


blessé (hurt)

by orphan_account



Series: appelle-moi par ton nom (call me by your name) [5]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angry Armie Hammer, Armie Hammer Being an Asshole, Armie Hammer in Love, Brat Timothée Chalamet, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Manipulation, Pain, Painkillers, Sexual Tension, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Timmy's in a lot of pain. Armie tries to help.
Series: appelle-moi par ton nom (call me by your name) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087184
Kudos: 11





	blessé (hurt)

**Author's Note:**

> Two in one day? Wow, I'm like really obsessed with these guys. I probably won't always keep churning these out, but I have to admit, I'm loving it so far. I guess you could say my muse never knows when to shut the fuck up. 😊

“Timmy, I’m back. I hope you’re hungry.” 

Timothée moaned irritably and reluctantly opened his eyes. “Mmf. _Pas faim. N’en veux pas_.” He stretched his arms out in bed and whimpered when the movement strained his wounded stomach. _“Oh mon Dieu, ça fait mal **putain**_!”

“Shh, easy. Don’t move around too much, or you’ll rip your stitches open. I don’t know about you but I, for one, have had enough of hospitals to last me the year already. Heck, I’d go as far as to say for the rest of the decade.”

Armie set the little plastic bag on the bean bag chair and knelt at the side of the bed as he pressed the back of his hand to Timothée’s forehead. “Hmm, that’s good. You don’t have a fever. How are you feeling?”

“It fucking **_hurts_** ,” Timothée grumbled. “Ugh. Armie, I know this’ll sound dramatic, but I think this may be the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. Unh!” he cried out as another wave of pain crashed over him. “ _Aide-moi! Je crois que je meurs_...Armie, please, help me. I really think I’m **_dying_** here, man.”

Armie gripped his chin tightly. “Timothée Hal Chalamet. Do not, and I mean it, **_do not_** , ever say such a thing. Your little stunt on New Year’s really could have killed you. And then there was the little Hannukah debacle just a couple weeks ago. Timmy…”

He paused, searching for words. “Honey, please, don’t say stuff like that. If you had any idea just what I’ve been through - ugh, I’m only 34 years old, but at the rate you’re going, I’ll have white hair by my next birthday.”

“Mmm, that sounds hot, actually.” Timothée opened his mouth and licked Armie’s thumb. Then, as if he could not help himself, he bit him, watching heat rise in his blue eyes, causing him to tremble with every nip of his teeth.

“I love you,” Timothée whispered, his breath hot on Armie’s palm. He moved his head down a little and kissed Armie’s wrist.

Armie moaned. He leaned down and kissed Timothée’s throat. “I know,” he said softly. He took Timothée’s hands and spread his palms over his. He slid his fingers down to Timothée’s wrists and held them, pressed them against his jaw as he closed his eyes.

Timothée shifted in bed and sat up with a pained gasp as he kissed Armie’s lips. He slipped his tongue into his mouth to catch his, scraping the sides and top of it with his teeth. Armie laughed, a deep chuckle that reverberated through his chest. He broke away from the kiss and scowled, his face flushed.

“You think you can get out of this. You think I’ll just forget everything, and that you can get away with anything. That all you have to do is lay there and bat your lashes at me.”

Timothée wet his lips, looking up at Armie as he did just that. “Maybe I do think that. Why, is it working?”

Armie laughed and blinked. He looked around the apartment as if waking from a dream. “Yeah, it is, actually. I don’t even remember what I was upset with you about.”

“Yay! That's good. But, um, Armie? I **am** kind of hurting. I could use a little something for the pain.”

Armie grinned. “Okay, baby. Give me a minute to go wash my hands and put the groceries away, and I’ll get you some Tylenol.”

**Author's Note:**

> With the kind of injuries Timotheé sustained in _amour maigre_ , he can't take Aleve, Advil, or aspirin. Any NSAID would make it harder for his blood to clot, and take a lot longer for him to heal.
> 
> Translations:  
>  _Pas faim. N’en veux pas_. ------> "Not hungry. Don't want it."  
>  _Oh mon Dieu, ça fait mal **putain**_!------> "Oh my God, it **fucking** hurts!"  
>  _Aide-moi! Je crois que je meurs_.------> "Help me! I think I'm dying."


End file.
